


Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me

by Lenore



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Established Relationship, Future Fic, Immortality, M/M, Old Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-01
Updated: 2011-09-01
Packaged: 2017-10-23 06:52:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/247425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenore/pseuds/Lenore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack and Ianto drink tea together. Past and present.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [](http://picfor1000.livejournal.com/profile)[**picfor1000**](http://picfor1000.livejournal.com/) challenge. Thanks to the wonderful [](http://oxoniensis.livejournal.com/profile)[**oxoniensis**](http://oxoniensis.livejournal.com/) for the emergency beta.

It's Marjorie on duty at the desk today, fresh-faced and apple-cheeked, yellow sweater draped over her shoulders.

Jack smiles. "Hey, gorgeous."

Marjorie turns a sweet shade of pink. "Afternoon, Captain."

"How is he today?"

"A little confused, I'm afraid."

Jack nods. It's what he expects to hear. "I'll take him his tea."

She smiles kindly. "Enjoy your visit."

Jack finds him sitting in the wingback chair by the window, a collection of bones and thin-stretched skin. There's confusion in his expression as he stares out at the willows and lilac, as if he doesn't quite know where he is. His mind wanders more often than not these days.

"Hello, handsome," Jack says brightly. "Look what I brought you." He makes a production of opening the bakery box.

There's no recognition in the gaze trained on him.

Jack smiles anyway. "They're your favourites. Trust me."

He fills the kettle in the bathroom, plugs it in, makes the tea once the water's boiled. The china has the familiarity of years, black cups and saucers, gold side plates, delicately fluted. Jack presses a cup into shaking, blue-veined hands, ready to help if needed, but those shaking hands manage, the cup making the slow, effortful journey to trembling lips.

Jack brings the cakes and his own tea and sits down in the wingback opposite. "So—"

There's always the problem of what to talk about. The present only exists for one of them, and the past is a sorrowful minefield, people they lost, things they killed. He chooses among the safe memories, the bridge between now and then that he's holding in his hand.

"Remember the first time we went to tea together?"

  
They were the youngest people at the Azalea Tea Room by a good two decades and perhaps the only men who'd ever seen the inside of the place. The room was drowning in chintz and ruffles, and Jack could hear the white-haired ladies at the next table, in their pastel and peplums, talking about peat moss and aphids and garden club politics.

"This isn't exactly what I had in mind when I asked you out on a date."

Ianto raised an eyebrow. "No?"

His expression was bland, but the way he looked in his plum-colored shirt and black suit was anything but.

Jack smiled magnanimously. "Hey, I did say it was your choice."

Ianto took a sip of his tea, set down his cup very gravely. "See, I was thinking we should start over, take things more slowly."

"Slowly?" Jack lost his smile.

Ianto nodded, apparently not noticing. "Really work at having a proper relationship this time. I was thinking you could maybe come 'round to my ma's for tea. I'm sure she'd love to meet you. Got anything on next Saturday?"

"Saturday? Your mother?" Jack stared confoundedly. He hadn't been brought home to meet anyone's parent in well—ever.

Ianto's lips twisted very slowly, that bedevilling spark lighting up in his eyes. "You should only see the look on your face right now."

Jack's eyebrows drew together in a scowl, although mostly what he felt was…relief. "That wasn't very nice, Ianto."

"No," Ianto conceded, "but then it wasn't very nice of you to go off without a word and leave us all to worry that we were never going to see you again, now was it, Jack?"

Ianto's expression went naked, just for a moment, and Jack could _feel_ the minutes, hours, days his absence had burned a hole in.

"I'll make it up to you," he said softly. "I promise."

Ianto studied him, quite leisurely, as if judging something very important. At last, his mouth softened into a smile. "Not that I think this means you won't do it again, mind," he said, as he flagged down their waitress for the check.

Later in bed, Jack could still taste tea in Ianto's mouth. They kissed as if they had all the time in the world, not even a thought of stopwatches. By the time Ianto knelt between Jack's spread legs and finally pressed inside, there was a gathering sense of inevitability, like the up and down of the sun, like waves on the shore. Like coming home.

Ianto moved over him, the look on his young face so urgent, so piercingly wanting. "I don't need forever," he whispered. "You don't have to make me any promises, Jack. I just want _this_ for however long it lasts."

Such quiet bravery, and Jack curved his hand around the back of Ianto's neck, kissing and urging him closer, deeper, for as long as they could have it.

The next day, he sent Ianto the tea set. A promise or a keepsake. Jack really hadn't been sure at the time.

  
They finish their tea quietly. Jack washes up the tea things and puts them away in the cabinet for the next time.

"Well, I'd better be—" He drops a kiss on Ianto's forehead.

He's already turned away when he hears, "Jack!" He jerks around in surprise, and Ianto is staring at him, that blue spark in his eyes like it never left.

Jack smiles. "There's my boy."

He bends down and cups Ianto's cheek in his hand, and there's breath and warmth and all the old, familiar affection. Ianto tastes like tea, and for just that one, sweet moment, the clock counting down their time seems to fall silent. When Jack lets go, Ianto leans back heavily in his chair, as if worn out by just the one kiss. He's smiling, though, perfectly, beautifully knowingly.

Jack smiles too and kisses Ianto's cheek. "I'll see you tomorrow."

 _This_. This is a promise.

He nods to Marjorie on the way out, and the late spring sun blares in his eyes as he steps through the doors. The days get longer, shorter; months, years, decades, all pass in a blur. Jack has become someone he never thought he'd be, someone who hopes for forever.

What he has, though, is this, for however long it lasts.


End file.
